


Work Song

by QueenBeeComplex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hosier - Work Song, M/M, Song Lyrics, Songfic, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 17:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16496852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBeeComplex/pseuds/QueenBeeComplex
Summary: Song fic to Hosier's "Work Song" that kinda loosely follows Deathly Hallows storyline.





	Work Song

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Work Song](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/429785) by Hosier. 



> Disclaimer I do not own these lyrics!

> _Boys workin' on empty_  
>  _Is that the kind'a way to face the burning heat?_

The morning sun poured into Draco's attic hideaway. Since HE had moved in, the blond had made it a point to stay out of sight as much as possible. He didn't ask for any of this.

Every so often, the new house elf would appear with a tightly wound scroll full of instructions for each next task. Draco wondered if today would be a task day, or if he would be given reprieve to hide.

Not that hiding was a good idea. It just gave him time to think.

> _I just think about my baby_

Brilliant green eyes drifted to the surface of Draco's thoughts. Green eyes behind panes of glass. Green eyes behind fringe of dark, messy hair.

"Damn you, Potter," Draco growled in frustration. It had been too long since he'd last heard from the boy. With all that had happened, he understood. But that didn't ease the anxiety that settled in his stomach like a stone.

> _I'm so full of love I could barely eat_

"Draco? Honey?"

The boy sighed. He guessed this meant getting up. "Yes mum?"

"Breakfast is ready," her soft voice filtered through the door. "Won't you come down and join us? It's been days. Your father and I are worried."

Draco gave a half hearted snort. "Don't fool yourself, mum. We both know father doesn't give a damn about me anymore. Not since-"

"You watch your mouth, young man. He is still your father, no matter what you say."

The boy crossed the room, flinging open the door in annoyance. "I'm not hungry. And I'm not coming down and having breakfast with HIM," he snarled.

Narcissa sighed, but nodded a bit. "If you'd like, I'll send something up. The elves made sweet rolls-"

But Draco just shut the door on her.

> _There's nothing sweeter than my baby_  
>  _I'd never want once from the cherry tree_  
>  _'Cause my baby's sweet as can be_  
>  _She give me toothaches just from kissin' me_

Draco turned back toward his cot, running fingers through his unkempt white-blond fray. Dropping back into his nest of blankets, he allowed his mind to drop back into fantasy. Lips on lips like fire, exchanging greedy desire between hot, slick tongues.

> _When my time comes around_  
>  _Lay me gently in the cold dark earth_  
>  _No grave can hold my body down_  
>  _I'll crawl home to her_

Deep tanned skin hovered over him, pressing him back into the soft bedding below. Green eyes met his silver ones. Then soft lips were crushed into his skin. Slowly, the other boy moved down, crawling down the bed and leaving open mouthed kisses on alabaster flesh.

> _Boys when my baby found me_  
>  _I was three days on a drunken sin_

Draco's thoughts shifted to that afternoon in the girl's bathroom. The way Potter had frozen upon realizing that he was crying. The tentative voice asking "Were you crying? It's okay if you were."

Draco vaguely remembered just wanting everything to stop. He still felt that way, what with the war waging all around, and the Dark Lord himself taking up residence in the manor.

He told Potter all this. About how trapped he felt. How he had no choice.

And Potter believed him.

> _I woke with her walls around me_  
>  _Nothin' in her room but an empty crib_

The next thing he remembered was sitting in the middle of a room draped with an obnoxious excess of red and gold. But he also remembered feeling a hardened chest pressed flush to his bare back. Feeling hot breath down the nape of his neck, accompanied by a soft, husky, "feeling better?"

> _And I was burnin' up a fever_  
>  _I didn't care much how long I lived_

Not until that moment had Draco ever experienced real sickness. The cold shaking. The bitterness of stomach acid settling in his throat. The gasping for air as if it was all eaten up by the surrounding heat.

"Merlin, just let me die!" He moaned.

"Sorry. I can't do that," Potter had responded, softly, as he dabbed a cool cloth across his forehead.

> _But I swear I thought I dreamed her_  
>  _She never asked me once about the wrong I did_

At first, Draco had thought it was delirium from the sickness. No way would Potter, can do no wrong, boy who lived, have stayed by his sick bed for days on end.

But when his fever broke and Draco came to, there Potter was, leaning over him and sighing in relief.

"Hey, hey, easy," his soft voice had insisted. A firm hand had pressed to Draco's chest, preventing him from sitting up.

"Why're you here?" Draco had mumbled. But the venom his voice usually held wasn't there.

"You collapsed. I couldn't very well have just left you."

Draco feebly raised an eyebrow. "Sure you could have. 'S what I'd of done."

"Yes, I'm well aware. But I'm not you. I don't leave anyone to die, no matter how much of a git he can be." But instead of animosity, Potter's voice held a note of laughter.

They talked, Draco thought, like he never thought they could. Lighthearted teasing perforated most everything said between them. And not once did Potter demand explanations. Not once did he expect excuses. It seemed to Draco, that the Boy Who Lived wasn't the least bit curious as to his behavior. And perhaps that was for the better.

> _When my time comes around_  
>  _Lay me gently in the cold dark earth_  
>  _No grave can hold my body down_  
>  _I'll crawl home her_

The first time it had happened, Draco wasn't anticipating such fervor. Potter knew, from their talks, what would be expected of Draco that evening: to kill Dumbledor.

Instead of talking in the Room of Requirement that day, Potter had thrown all of his weight into Draco, pressing him into the closed door as his mouth crashed onto the other boy's. And to Draco's own astonishment, he'd kissed back, pulling Potter harder against his body, relishing in the comfort that was physical contact with another living being. No one seemed to want to be near him these days.

And when Potter had moved hands to his arse, Draco had lifted his legs and wound them tightly around the other boy's hips. Yes, Draco had thought. This was good. And his thought had been accompanied by a moan of pleasure as Potter's body had rutted into his own.

Then, Potter was turning, holding all of Draco's weight as he leaned downward, and Draco had felt the softness of silk on his skin as he was laid into a bed he suspected the Room had provided.

Making love to Potter - for he suspected that was what it was - was like coming up for air. He'd clawed his way to the surface, and finally he felt alive.

> _My baby never fret none_  
>  _About what my hands and my body done_

It was some time before Draco had seen Potter after that night. But when he did finally stumble into the Room of Requirement, his absence unnoticed amid the mourning of the closing feast, he was surprised to find Potter there as well.

"After all I've done?" Draco asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

But Potter had only returned a soft smile and slight shake of his head. "You didn't kill him," he said, softly.

"Only because Snape-"

"Was acting on Dumbledore's orders. And, I suspect, your mother's as well."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "My mother's?"

Potter smiled a bit. "No mother wants to see her son become a murderer. I have reason to believe your mother asked Snape to protect you."

"But what about everything else?"

At that, the dark haired boy had sighed. "You can't help the fact your father follows Voldemort any more than I can help that my parents were killed by him. I know you don't have a choice. Do you?"

"Do I have a choice?" Draco had asked, a note of offence in his voice.

Potter shook his head. "No. Do you  _ **know**_ you don't have a choice. Have you accepted that fact?"

Draco shrugged.

"The things you do, at your father's command, are his sins, not yours." Potter had taken Draco's hand, pulling him down onto the end of the bed and wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders. "You are just doing what you must to survive."

Draco collapsed against Potter's chest, letting the tears he'd been keeping back for so long finally rush to the surface.

> _If the lord don't forgive me_  
>  _I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me_

Draco groaned at the obnoxious POP! of the house elf appearing. "Alright, Dreader, what's it gonna be today?"

The sharp nosed house elf bowed low to the ground. "Master Draco, Dreader knows yous told mistress yous wasn't hungry. But mistress insisted Dreader bring yous food anyways. Mistress says it will not do for a growing boy to skip breakfast."

Draco huffed and took a sweet roll from the tray. Then he saw the roll of parchment sealed superficially with the skull-and-snake wax impression. "Great," he murmured, tossing the sweet roll back onto the platter and wiping hands on a napkin before flicking open the wax seal.

"Is Master not satisfied with Dreader's sweet rolls? Should Dreader bring Master something else?"

The boy screwed up his face in disgust. "Oh, shut it," he drawled, rolling up the scroll and standing briskly. "Go fetch me my traveling cloak. And my luggage. I'll be gone for some time."

"Yes, Master Draco. Right away!" And the Elf disappeared with another obnoxious POP!

Apparently, Draco was to follow Potter. To find him and stop him before he could fulfil the prophesy. He couldn't say he minded. An excuse to obviously track the boy was the only part of this task that was even a bit appealing.

When the house elf returned, Draco hurriedly packed a few changes of cloths and robes into the bigger-on-the-inside messenger bag. Then he threw on his cloak and disapparated without so much as a goodbye.

Draco had every intention of finding Potter, but no intentions of stopping him. No intentions of killing him. Instead, the boy thought, he'd send back false reports. Throw the Dark Lord off Potter's trail.

He just hoped such a betrayal would be enough. That, if the Dark Lord found out, his father's sickening loyalty would be enough to spare his life. And if not, that his actions would be enough to earn Potter's trust.

> _When I was kissing on my baby_  
>  _And she put her love down soft and sweet_

And eventually, it had happened. Potter spotted him in the trees as he was putting up wards. He'd stunned him right down off of his perch, bound his wrists and ankles, and dragged him back to the tent he was sharing with Granger and that one Weasley.

"Explain yourself, Malfoy!" He'd demanded. All the softness Draco remembered from the last school year was gone from Potter's voice.

Draco nodded towards the messenger bag. "In my luggage is a box, with copies of my correspondence with HIM. And the scroll with my orders." He hoped it would be enough.

The Granger girl dumped the contents of his bag onto the ugly carpet floor of the tent. Clothes and robes fell out, unfolding in the air before they crumpled into a heap on the floor. A sneakoscope dropped out, but laid there silently. Another, smaller leather pouch fell out, it's clasp coming undone and the quills, parchment rolls, and ink wells it contained all tumbled out. One ink well rolled across the floor, disappearing under one of the beds. Then, finally, an ornate, locked box with silver filigree and emeralds fell to the floor with a thump.

"It's locked," Granger stated, pulling helplessly at the lid.

"Key's round my neck," Draco instantly responded.

Harry reached forward, shoving his hand down the front of Draco's shirt until his hands closed around the matching silver key, handle set with a big round emerald. He yanked it over Draco's head and tossed it back to Granger.

But the closeness was enough for Draco to get a good look at the other boy. His body seemed to have hardened in a way quiddich never could have caused. A shadow of three day stubble graced his soft jaw. His cheeks were much more hollow than before. But his eyes - those had changed the most. Where once laughter had danced like candlelight behind his glasses, there was now a wildfire of suspicion and panic. The war had taken the softness and replaced it with burning fear.

"Er, Harry?" the Granger girl demanded.

Potter took his eyes off Draco and turned, looking over the girl's shoulder at the parchment.

"Looks as if he's been following us for some time now," she stated.

Potter's eyebrows scrunched together and he took the rolled up parchment from the box, reading it carefully. "He's meant to kill me," he murmured.

"I'm not gonna kill you, Potter," Draco stated, dully.

"Look, Harry!" Hermione traced her finger across lines of a letter.

"But we're not in the Alps," Harry insisted with confusion.

"Of course we're not in the Alps, Potter. Use your head."

The dark haired boy whipped around to face Draco again. "You're lying."

Draco nodded.

"But either these aren't real...or-"

"I've been throwing HIM of your trail for months."

Granger's bushy eyebrows knotted together. "But why on earth would you do that?"

The smirk that painted Draco's face was almost sickening. "Because I'm as tired of HIS shit as the both of you." But he caught Potter's eyes as if to send another message.

"Hermoine," Potter started without looking away from Draco. "Go find Ron, would you? I'm worried he's gotten himself lost looking for fire wood. Again."

The Granger girl gave a huff, but exited the tent.

Potter's expression softened. "So, why have you been lying to the Dark Lord, hmm?" he asked, this time without the venom.

Draco shrugged. "That house is a prison so long as HE is there. I just want my life back."

"Is that the only reason?" Potter's voice had taken on a teasing quality.

"Of course not. It's also because, well, damnit Potter...I think I love you."

The response he got wasn't the one he was expecting, but it was the one he needed. Potter had swooped in and captured Draco's lips with his own, working his tongue into that hot, wet mouth and kissing the blond as if his life would end if he didn't. And the kisses didn't stop. They trailed softly down Draco's throat, fingers pulling open buttons so that lips could trace his chest.

This was it, Draco thought. This was where he belonged.

> _In the lowland plot I was free_  
>  _Heaven and hell were words to me_

Draco let out a shuddering gasp as Harry's fingers slid rope from his wrists. He allowed himself to be consumed by the boy against him. There, in that tent, in that clearing in the valley, Draco was not a death eater. He was not a Malfoy. He was not a rich, spoiled prat, nor was he an envoy of the Dark Lord. He wasn't a traitor to the Wizarding World. He wasn't a traitor to the Dark Lord.

Potter had managed to strip them both down to nothing, and was taking his time caressing pale, scarred skin. Kisses were planted anywhere he could reach. Draco was a moaning mess, shaking in pleasure as the Boy Who Lived taught him how to live again.

He was Harry's. And nothing else. He was free.

> _When my time comes around_  
>  _Lay me gently in the cold dark earth_

Harry shoved Draco's body into the carpet, climbing straddle the Slytherin's legs and started working kisses across bare skin. "I'm never letting you out of my sight, again," the savior's lips murmured against his throat.

> _No grave can hold my body down_  
>  _I'll crawl home to her_

But Draco did have to leave. A summons came, and he had no choice.

"Don't," Potter had insisted.

"You know I have to. When the mark burns-"

Potter nodded softly. Then he reached out and pressed a hard kiss to Draco's lips. "Promise you'll come back to me."

"Even if I have to crawl on my hands and knees to wherever you are." Then he took one last good look at the Boy Who Lived, trying to memorize every last detail before disappearing through the flap of the tent and disapparating with a POP!

> _When my time comes around_  
>  _Lay me gently in the cold dark earth_

The next time Draco saw Potter, he was laying lifeless at the Dark Lord's feet. Every part of his being wanted to scream for Harry to get up, to do something. He couldn't be dead, he told himself.

Longbottom, idiot that he was, had lunged forward at HIM. There was so much chaos as HE had set the sorting hat aflame, right on top of Longbottom's head. But Draco never let his eyes leave Harry. And when Potter had disappeared in the chaos of Longbottom beheading Nagini, Draco had seen the silvery flash of his invisibility cloak being swung around familiar broad shoulders.

> _No grave can hold my body down_  
>  _I'll crawl home to her_

Draco could see his Harry approaching. He wondered if he was allowed to call him that, still, after everything.

"I think this is yours," Harry murmured, holding out the thin rod of blackthorn.

The blond stared in confusion. "I gave it to you."

Harry held up his now mended holly and phoenix feather wand. "I don't need it anymore," he said softly.

Draco took the blackthorn wand delicately, as if it were a treasured gift. "Thank you," he breathed.

A small smile graced Harry's features. His eyes flickered from Draco's crystal blue eyes to his lips, which were still cracked and bloodied from the fight. "I-"

"You can kiss me, if you'd like," Draco interrupted. The offer was soft. Almost inaudible. He flushed at the thought.

With a sigh of relief, Harry lunged forward, pulling Draco hard against himself and molding their mouths together in an all too familiar way.

Yes, Draco thought. This is where I'm meant to be.


End file.
